


sinnerman

by magpirate



Category: Captain America: The First Avenger - Fandom, captain america: the winter soldier - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Genderbending, Lots of kissing, Post-everything, Pre-EVERYTHING, Pre-Serum, irresponsible church sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2287049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpirate/pseuds/magpirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm going to marry you in this church someday," He whispers against her ear as his mouth wanders, kissing the soft skin beneath her ear as her hands fist in the back of his shirt. "M'gonna marry you in this church and carry you to a home for the two of us if I have to build it myself."</p>
            </blockquote>





	sinnerman

**Author's Note:**

> didn't have much to do, decided to throw out a fic i'd had in mind for a few days now. bit rushed, unbeta-'d. [also on my tumblr here.](http://magpirate.tumblr.com/post/97175043160/sinnerman)

The year is 1937, and the sky is clear for the first time in a long time.

Stella knows she should be in her classes, that her mother would never approve, but the day Bucky left the schoolyard for good and went to work simply made it an easier choice for Stella to decide whether or not finishing school was worth it.

There are blisters on his hands when he pulls her into the church, and she knows he's opted for some busy work now, somewhere he won't tell her simply because he'd rather spend time with her than lurking on his work. She is breathless from trying to keep up with him and as the heavy door creaks closed, she doubles over and his hand is on her upper back, rubbing in slow and gentle circles until she catches her breath properly.

They'd nearly been caught this time, a neighbor of Bucky's spying them trying to climb up the fire escape for their private spot near the roof. And of course, Bucky knew his mother would be furious with him both for spending time with his girl while he should be working, and for still being with this particular girl even with all the trouble she is.

"Alright, Stells?" He says, and the girl props herself up slowly to look up at him, giving him an exaggerated pout.

"Absolutely not, Buck, I'm going to keel over and die right here because you wanted to move too quickly." Wheezes and coughs make her tone a bit awkward, but it's enough to let him know that no, she's going to be fine. "Good thing you decided to take me to church, the priests hate coming to my apartment."

Stella Rogers is seventeen, Bucky Barnes is twenty, and they have been in love for as long as they've known what eachother's eyes look like after the sun goes down.

"Nobody ever comes to confessionals for real, Stells, it's not like anyone's going to catch us here." He says as he helps her up, his hands going to her shoulders to steady her. The air inside the church is hot and stifling, with perfumed candles making the heat become a mix of strange scents and flavors that linger on the back of her tongue. Her left ear is ringing again, and her chest hurts when she breathes in, but she takes his hand and lets him tug her along anyway.

"Your mother is going to kill us." Stella says, almost passively. "She'll beat you with a bible every Sunday for the rest of your life if she finds out."

"Ah," says Bucky, as he pulls open the door to the confessional. "But she's never gonna find out, Stells, 'cause you and I are the only ones here and you're certainly not gonna tell my mama anything."

She shoves him with a laugh and he collapses onto the creaky old wood, grinning at her crookedly with his short hair disheveled and a few strands hanging over his forehead from the usual neat combing. Stella gives a cursory glance over her shoulder to make sure they really are truly alone, that nobody is going to see her sneaking into a church and climbing into a goddamn confessional for this, and the heat that saturates their surroundings gets worse as she slides into the little box and fits herself onto his lap as he pulls the door shut.

The confessional is cramped with two of them in one box, and she has to push him back against the old wood with some serious effort to get herself comfortable. Bucky moves to compensate, and it doesn't take long for her to end up with her legs wrapped around his middle and her hands on his shoulders. His face is close to hers out of necessity, and when her hands move to the back of his neck she feels beads of sweat on his skin.

"Comfortable?" His tone is casual, almost bored sounding, and she prods him in the side with a bony knee for it. He grins at her, and Stella closes the gap between their faces to kiss him hard.

Bucky returns it easily, an overeager boy masquerading as a man, and his hands move to her hips to pull her tight against him. The wood creaks every time they move but the noise seems to be swallowed up by the stillness of the church, and Stella feels her heart racing again in a way that would make her nervous, if she didn't know it was simply because of the fact she was sitting on the lap of the man she loved crammed into a confessional in a quiet church in Brooklyn and about to kiss him 'til he drooled all over his nice white shirt.

He seems intent on making her do the same, his lips moving against hers with a fervor that she attributes more to the wild animals her mother warned her were lurking out on the streets. Bucky sucks on her lower lip for a long moment when he has to stop to breathe, his hands sliding up her back over the ridges of her spine until his palms find her shoulderblades. His fingers brush the blonde braid she'd put her long hair in, tugging at a few loose strands.

"You're beautiful, Stella." He murmurs against her skin as he presses his mouth to her cheek. Stella's pale pink lips are parted in a soundless groan as her heart races and she struggles to catch her breath, and Bucky's sturdy hands and the smell of sweat and perfumed candles keep her grounded right here. "So goddamn beautiful. Angels are jealous'a you, sweetheart." A little laugh leaves her, and he holds her tighter.

Bucky is the only one who has ever called her beautiful (other than her mother, of course) and every time he does she feels her heart skip a beat and her breath stop in her throat at the thought that she could be. All bones and skin stretched too thin, struggling lungs and racing heart, and he thinks she is beautiful just as she is.

"I'm going to marry you in this church someday," He whispers against her ear as his mouth wanders, kissing the soft skin beneath her ear as her hands fist in the back of his shirt. "M'gonna marry you in this church and carry you to a home for the two of us if I have to build it myself."

She curses in her head as he speaks. "Bucky--"

"And then when I've married you, I'm gonna make love to you every night and hold you in my arms every damn time I can." She feels him smiling against her skin and Stella can't hold back the subsequent moan even if she bites her tongue. She's struggling to speak, wants to tell him that this is a church, damn you, and you can't go getting me all turned on in a church, but the words simply won't come. Stella tilts her head to kiss him hard, angrily, aggressively, and he smirks into her mouth as his hands wander back down over her back to hold her hips. She can feel him hard against her crotch, this positioning of her legs wrapped around his middle putting their groins at perfect line to feel his arousal just layers of fabric away from hers--

Her thoughts are cut off by the sudden creaking sound of the door to the other side of the confessional opening and the creaking sound of another person sitting opposite them. Bucky has shoved her down quickly so it would only be his head visible in the grate if the priest- for she knows now it is a priest- happened to look over. The positioning is uncomfortable, her ass pressed against the door and her face shoved against his chest, but he mouths an apology as he looks down to her and puts his hands on her back.

"Did I hear you praying, child?" questions the priest, and Stella almost swallows her tongue to keep herself from laughing.

Bucky Barnes, who has never prayed a day in his life, simply responds, "Yes, Father. I've been thinking very sinful things, and I thought that God would help me get them off my chest."

\-------------------------------------

But things interrupt.

A war, a scientist, a woman, a train, and ice interrupts.

\-------------------------------------

The year is 2014 and the sky is covered with clouds, thunder rumbling in the distance that suggests a storm is coming.

Sam had gone out to find a grocery store in this little run down town, and Stella had decided it was time to do some wandering. They're somewhere in the midwest, following nothing but a ghost and a rumor, and Stella found herself thinking bitterly that perhaps following a prayer might have been the better idea. It's the middle of the day, but the crushing clouds above make it feel darker as she walks, a jacket pulled around her body and her hair in a low ponytail on the back of her neck. She's recovered well from the events in DC-- at least, physically.

Bucky Barnes is not dead.

The words bring relief to her, but anger follows after so quickly. Her hands are shoved in the pockets of her hoodie, thinking hard with her head bowed slightly forward. Her broken jaw healed fine. The stab wound in her shoulder left a scar, as did the bullet wound in her ass, and the one in her stomach. Her broken cheekbone took longer, and there's a pale mark beneath her left eye that the metal left behind. Scars that are his fault, visible marks that the man she loved is not dead.

Sam yelled at her for days for being so reckless, for throwing the shield away, and Stella had nodded through it, agreed to his complaints while silently rebelling, and saved her anger and sadness for when she was alone. She wept when she was alone, but it was not quite sorrow now- It was relief. He had not killed her. Bucky Barnes is not dead, he had not killed her, and he had saved her life. He had saved her life and made it worth living, because Bucky Barnes is not dead.

There is a gun in her thigh holster, covered by the long hoodie, loaded and ready only because Sam and Natasha had both agreed that if she was to go anywhere alone, it would be wise to keep a weapon on hand. The shield was back in the motel, shined and repainted, the star permanently scratched from where a metal fist had collided with it time and time again.

The thunder rumbles overhead, and she feels the first spattering of raindrops on her shoulders.

A cursory glance up shows lightning, and the sound of rain hitting the pavement makes her stop in her walking. There is something else on that pavement, and Stella stops to listen, her hands going from her pockets so one can linger over where the gun in her thigh holster waits. Footsteps. A trio- left. A quick glance and a long moment of waiting later, the thunder rumbles and she moves just fast enough to feel the bullet graze her ear instead of going right through her temple.

Hydra.

God damnit.

She rips the gun from it's holster much too quickly, clicks the safety off, and shoots back. She doesn't wait for the thunder like they do, and in this small town that will definitely call the police to this spot. That's the intention, really- Hydra is scattered and this bunch of ragtag assholes with a few guns and a death wish are not going to get out of this. She wishes quite angrily that she'd taken her shield with her, but then, going incognito was the intention.

Avoiding the shots is difficult as hell and these guys are inexperienced, new recruits who stop to reload and don't understand that if they stop they're dead, she lifts her gun, and shoots--

Two of the goons fall to the ground with a thud, and a second gunshot later another falls. Behind them she sees a man, a man wearing a hood with his face covered and his eyes clear, his eyes bright, his eyes the green eyed glory that she still dreams of and cried for when the ice melted.

He wastes no time in taking her gun from her and grabbing her hand, uttering in a gruff and angry and oh so deliriously familiar voice that they need to move, and move fast.

Somehow running after him still feels natural, especially with his hand closed around hers. Stella certainly doesn't know where they're going, but Bucky seems to, and when she comes back to her senses and realizes that the ringing in her ears and the racing of her heart is neither from the Hydra goons or the running she hears him shoving the heavy doors to the old church shut in order to barricade it behind him with a pew.

The rain is loud now, thunder rumbling above them, and Stella lifts a hand to her bloody ear to find the wound already closed. Supersoldier regeneration and a useless wound. She scrapes the drying blood away with the wetness of her own hood, then looks back to him with a lump in her throat. The gun in his hand is extended, but he offers it to her. The muzzle is pointed at him, the muzzle of a loaded gun, and she is delicate as she takes it back.

She flicks the safety back on, puts it back in the holster on her thigh, and stares at him.

"You've been following me." She says, and the realization comes quickly. That's why their leads hadn't gone anywhere- they weren't leads, they were rumors, and the one who had been laying the rumors had been at their backs while they believed they were chasing him.

Bucky nods mechanically, and keeps his eyes on her face.

He looks very tired standing in front of her, but there's a sense of sturdiness that she has always attributed to him. His jaw is covered in scruff, the sort of beard he'd never have grown back in Brooklyn when he had an image to keep up, and his shoulder length hair is messy and greasy and she feels a mixture of pity and love and dread settling in the pit of her stomach. He wears an old hoodie and the left arm looks halfway shredded- she attributes that to the metal beneath ripping the fabric to pieces.

"Bucky," She starts, and she is thankful now for the ability to keep her voice even despite her emotions raging through her body like a wildfire. "Bucky, I-"

But he does not let her speak. The man who was Bucky Barnes and is now The Winter Soldier steps nearer to her, taking both her hands in his. Cold metal closes around her wrist a bit more firmly than she'd like and her posture gets a bit stiffer, though she does her best to not seem like a threat. She doesn't want him to run again, to attack again, to leave another trail and watch her crawl up the breadcrumbs.

"I want to try. Stay quiet." He says under his breath, and Stella can only nod.

Before she can realize what he's doing his hands have moved to her shoulders and he is kissing her, all full of his scratchy beard and too much teeth and too firm, halfway like he's trying to handle her gently and simply doesn't know how. But she kisses back, she kisses him back with her hands pressed against his chest, tasting him on her lips for the first time in seventy years. He tastes the same, but beneath that familiar and comforting taste is something bloody, something metallic, something dark.

It is him who breaks the kiss first, leaving her breathless and almost dazed, and she looks into those green eyes she has known for all her life and does not want to admit that in those eyes she sees a stranger. His dark expression hasn't changed and his hands remain on her shoulders, green staring into blue.

"That's right." He mutters, and she's not sure if he's talking to himself or to her.

"That's right." He repeats, a little louder. Bucky doesn't blink as Stella looks to him, not sure how to feel about being pressed so close to him when the last time they'd met he'd been trying to kill her. But he hadn't, she reminds herself. He hadn't hurt her, this is her Bucky, her Bucky, back after so long. So, so long. And now, Stella realizes, that was a question.

"It- Yeah. It's right." She says, her cheeks feeling scratched from where his beard had scraped her. She catches herself wondering if he hasn't kept up with grooming simply because he doesn't know how.

"Right." He repeats after her once again, before he looks around the empty church. He seems to be somewhere far away, less than he seems to be here, and she's not sure what to think.

Then he simply doesn't give her a chance to think.

"Something comes after that," He mutters to himself, holding her very firmly as he guides her to the nearest wall and pushes her against it. "After..." He is exploring, she realizes, trying to discover things for himself, and Stella opens her mouth to say something in response to him before he simply covers her mouth with his and kisses her hard again, harshly and almost angrily and there is some manner of violence that she doesn't know she should be accepting.

The thunder rumbles overhead as he cages her in against the wall, lightning flickering through stained glass windows of the church to cast colors over both of them and make it harder for her to pick out his green eyes when he pulls back to look at her.

He doesn't speak, but his hands begin to wander over her body.

"Bucky-" She starts, wanting to object. She'd rather bring him home, help him clean up and remember, but he claps a hand over her mouth to look her in the eyes. The thunder rumbles again.

"I remember a different church." He says, and his voice is raspy. "You're supposed to be smaller, and you're not. We sat in a small room and I got- I got. I wanted to be inside of you." His focus is on her but his mind is somewhere else, far away and a long time ago. "I wanted to be inside of you because it made us both feel good."

Stella's eyes widen slightly at that and he pushes her tighter against the wall, sliding a leg between her thighs.

"Bucky, now's not... Not..." She shouldn't. She should not. He is in no place to be having sex with anyone, even her, let alone in a goddamn church in the middle of a thunderstorm when Sam expects her back in half an hour, but the look of determination he gives her and the way his hands move down to her hips makes her so very hesitant.

"Let me." He breathes out, following instinct as he puts her face closer to hers and begins to suck on the spot beneath her ear. She struggles for a moment longer, before he adds so very pathetically, "Please." In her mind she curses him, curses Pierce and God and Fury and the train ride that took him away in the first place, and she feels her resolve crumbling before she kisses him back. He's clever enough to realize that's an invitation.

The whirring of his metal hand catches her attention as he fists both hands in the beltloops of her pants, pulling them down around her thighs without any semblance of being gentle or hesitant.

"You're supposed to be smaller," He mutters under his breath as his hands find skin, and Stella jolts at the combination of cold metal on her hip and thunder crashing over their heads. "Why aren't you?" Whether or not he expects an answer she doesn't know, because he's moving too quickly to give her the chance to respond. His metal hand curls in the fabric of her panties and rips it away all at once, his hands moving over the bones of her hips and over the wispy thatch of hair on her groin before metal finds it's mark, the warmth of her core meeting cold steel, and Stella feels her body shake.

"Fuck--" She curses and holds onto him now, her pants around her thighs and what remains of her panties hanging off of the denim. Stella's hands fist in his jacket and he seems to like this- or, at least, he doesn't try to push her off. His mouth returns to her jawline, mouthing over what he'd broken just months ago, and a metal finger slides into the wetness of her cunt almost testingly. She can't stop herself from tightening around the intrusion, startled at the cold feeling that soon saps the warmth from her body and matches her temperature.

"Hush." He says, almost like he's reprimanding her. "Let me."

Stella only nods into his shoulder and does her best to imagine now that they are somewhere else, somewhere far away and long ago and that the rapidly heating intrustion in her cunt isn't empty steel but warm skin as he slides another finger into her, stretching her open as if he's rushing. She tries not to move, tries to let him manipulate her however he needs, but Stella has never quite been good at self control. She begins to ride his fingers, rocking her hips back and forth, and he grunts in a noise that she identifies as pleasure.

"That's not right," He muses as he spreads his fingers inside of her, watching her knees shake as she tries to keep herself upright. Stella's face is flushed deeply red as she looks back to Bucky's face, his green looking into her blue like he's looking for something, and his metal fingers give a rough thrust before he pulls them out of her and shoves his too-big pants down around his knees.

It happens too quickly for her to be prepared for it, or to understand quite what he's doing, but when she makes any effort to come back to her senses Bucky has lifted her off of the ground to hold her roughly against the wall and positioned himself at her drooling entrance, and she's about to say his name before he slams into her and stays there, still as a statue, caging her in and keeping her still as he spreads her open.

It hurts. Her nails dig into the fabric of his shirt and his face is close to hers and perhaps he can tell that he was too rough, too quick, too fast, because the noise he makes is vaguely apologetic as his head dips to kiss at her throat. Bucky remains still, doesn't move with his cock buried as deeply as he can go into her, and she's the one to wrap her legs around his middle in an attempt to keep herself from sliding down the wall.

"Sinful thoughts," He mutters against her throat, echoing the voice of the priest from so very many years ago. Stella can only whimper, and as he begins to thrust (rough and ragged, viciously, as if he's intentionally trying to hurt her or more likely simply doesn't understand) her moans and cries start to sound like prayers, mixing with the thunder and the rain pouring down on top of the church.

It doesn't last long before she's nearly wailing his name as she comes, and he stops to hold her tightly as his own orgasm washes over him, his seed spilling deep into her to drip out of her entrance around his cock and trickle down over the curve of her ass and into the denim of her pants. A sense of serenity comes over him now, as if he's managed to do something he was meant to, and when his hands go to her bum he sinks down onto the floor without pulling out of her, sitting with her on his lap and holding onto him still so damn tightly.

"Stay." She says, as quickly as she can, as breathless as she is, with an ache in her stomach and a heat in her groin. "Please. Come back with me, stay."

Green eyes find blue once again, Stella staring into the eyes of her green eyed glory.

"Angel," He whispers, and his lips find hers with a gentle motion she didn't know he was capable of.

\----------------------------------------

The year is 1938, late summer, and the sky is clear.

Stella pays no attention to the sky, only the empty apartment where her mother had once been. She pays no attention to the man rummaging through her kitchen until he sets a plate of food in front of her and stares until she feeds herself, and she pays no attention to him as he drapes a blanket over her shoulders and sits beside her.

"You'll be alright, Stells." Bucky says as he presses his forehead to her temple. "Your mama wouldn't want you to be so sad."

She closes her eyes as he talks, drapes an arm over her shoulder, and pulls her tight against his chest. His arms encircle her like a shield, protective and warm and comforting. Her hands go to his shirt and she curls her fingers into the rough fabric as he puts his chin on top of her head.

"I'm staying." He says. "You won't be getting rid of me any time soon." His hand goes to the back of her head, thumbing the yellow hair that seems almost gold in the sunlight gleaming through the window. "To the end of the line, Stella, I promise."

She keeps her eyes shut, but she smiles, and finally lets herself cry.


End file.
